


Rain: Part 2

by Ofseaandsky



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ofseaandsky/pseuds/Ofseaandsky
Summary: Clarke's relationship moves through the usual milestones.





	Rain: Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> So after several requests, I'm posting the second half of the scenes I wrote for the original in this series. They are a bit rougher, but looking at them has been my excuse keeping me from working on my longer piece so I'm posting it now in hopes that it will help me focus on the other one. I'm currently visiting my parents, so apologies about the formatting, I'm doing my best working from OneDrive and Word on iPad. 
> 
> There will be a short PWP scene added as en extra. It fits in after part 5 and it didn't feel like it worked with the story at the time, but I'll add it to the collection as well for those that are interested. 
> 
> Also, sorry about the disgustingly fluffy ending. I'm pregnant and I will continue to use that as an excuse for everything :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

1.

They celebrated a year of survival underground by throwing a massive party. It had started with a solemn speech from the three kru leaders about the people who had been left to face praimfaya and the sacrifice they had made. There had been an attempt at making it into another Unity Day but Clarke had pointed out that in the end, only three of the clans had actually united so it hadn’t really had the same feel. But what had started as a solemn and respectful tribute had devolved into revelry when moonshine had ‘mysteriously’ appeared in the hands of most of the older bunker occupants.

Clarke sighs as she watches her friends from where she sits on one of the tables in the canteen that had been pushed aside to make a dance floor of sorts. There had been a slightly eclectic collection of music available in the bunker library and it had been quickly put to use. Every one of her friends seemed to be having a great time, gyrating on the floor in a large mass of people that makes sparks of anxiety dance along her nerves.

Raven, Octavia, Harper and Monty were well and truly on their way to thoroughly sloshed which amuses Clarke greatly but makes her feel more apart from them than ever before. The time inside the bunker in relative safety had done wonders for her friends. They smiled more, laughed loudly and often, and were happily pursuing a series of casual and not so casual flings. They looked more alive than she had ever had the privilege of seeing them and that alone made her own suffering worthwhile.

Her eyes darted over the heads of her dancing friends as she feels the telltale prickle of someone's stare. She already knew who was watching her before she caught the familiar storm cloud blue gaze of the Azgeda king. He raises his glass in salute when he catches her eye and the quirk of his lip makes her belly bubble in want.

They had kept up their private explorations with each other since the first time after their run-in in the shower. Not as often as Clarke would have liked and neither of them had mentioned anything along the lines of pursuing a relationship. Clarke often relived their few but passionate nights when she was alone and didn’t have any interest toward anyone else while she kept company with the king. He was as forceful and dominant in bed as she had hoped for, but he was best at slow, intense passion that ripped through her heart and left her bleeding and bare below him.

It was hard however to keep ‘accidentally’ falling into bed when they were both so busy. Clarke tried to find excuses to go to his quarters when she knew he’d be alone, but with her clinic schedule and her duties on the council, their successful encounters barely counted in the double digits. She was often also exhausted and would fall asleep blissfully satisfied and not wake until morning when other duties were more pressing than a bit of morning delight. As a result she found herself with a secret sketchbook full of his hands, eyes, chest and back. She spent many quiet moments sketching his scars from memory; a beautiful web that told a story she was desperate to learn.

"You are not drunk enough," Raven practically fell onto her while laughing, throwing an arm around her shoulders to steady herself. Her dark and somewhat unfocused eyes peered in the direction Clarke had been looking, lost in her musings.

"What do you think it would take to fuck a king?" She asks and Clarke's heart seizes in her chest. "Because I don't know what I wouldn’t give to ride every one of his carnival rides. I bet he’s fucking legendary at fucking."

Raven bursts into drunken laughter and Clarke tries to smile but feels it crack and split her face wide open in a painful grimace. Raven was too busy watching Roan lustily and missed the pain that flashed across the blonde’s features. Clarke feels something twist deep within her and knows it is not what you feel for a casual but always amazing fuck-buddy. She wants to throw off Raven’s friendly half embrace and grab the king and kiss him in the middle of the room, marking her territory in the most primitive way she could think of. She looks away, suddenly feeling ashamed and embarrassed. She had no claim on him or his affections no matter how intense her connection was to him.

"Happy Bunker Occupation Day," that all too familiar voice rasps and she wonders if he had run through the crush of bodies to get to her so quickly or if she was lost in thought too long to notice. The silly greeting that had made the rounds through the day sounded especially childish coming from him but the wicked glimmer in his eye proved he knew it.

Raven slips her arm from around Clarke’s shoulders and sidles up to him, too deep into her cups to think straight or notice her own stumble, before she wraps an arm around his waist and smiles coquettishly up at him.

"Enjoying the party, your majesty?" She asks and her voice drips sweet like honey while Clarke feels bitter bile rise in her throat as he smiles down at her in amusement.

Her breath catches and suddenly the room is spinning. She looks to Raven but she was busy stealing a sip from Roan's cup and Clarke realises that she couldn't stand the thought of seeing her friend succeed in sating her curiosity. She certainly wasn’t about to hang around and watch it happen.

"I have to go," she says in a shallow rush of air and turns and flees the room without sparing either so much as a glance.

It was too hot and the crush of too many bodies inside the small space made the air vibrate with tension. Too many happy, laughing, smiling faces swirling in a cacophony of sound. The music was too loud and it echoed off the concrete walls and metal tables to tap menacingly at the base of her skull. The air is dry and bitter as she sucks at it greedily, moving quickly to get as far away from everyone as possible, but she could never get enough. She barely notices as she leaves the canteen and staggers into the suddenly overly bright hallway.

"Clarke?" The other deep voice that is so very familiar breaks into the wailing sirens in her mind and Bellamy's dark eyes are scanning over her concerned. "Are you alright?"

She nods her head shakily and knows it doesn't come close to convincing him as he steps toward her. She can't help shrinking away, her hands flinching against the cold concrete at her back, the thought of anyone touching her as terrifying as the walls that are suddenly closing in on her. She tries to keep the panic from her eyes and clears her dry throat.

“I’m fine, Bellamy,” she says and the tremor in her voice is barely discernible and he is hopefully tipsy enough to not think to deeply into it. “It’s just getting a little hot in there so I’m going to grab some air.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth she wants to rip her lungs apart and scream as they hang in the stale silence between them. There is no air down in the stagnant, cold bunker. No fresh breeze or cool wind to blow the nausea from her belly and clear her cluttered mind. Everything is dry and the air tastes like ashes on her tongue and she feels a hysterical laugh attempt to escape her chest, so she smiles a little desperately at her friend.

He returns it in a way that used to make her stomach clench, all straight white teeth and cheeky dimples, but now it makes her fingers desperate to scratch at the invisible bugs crawling down her arms. He’s beautiful, but she can’t even fathom letting him any closer into her personal space. And before he has chance to ask her anything else, she turns and runs deeper into the bowels of the bunker, through the snaking corridors and echoing hallways desperate to get away from the overly sympathetic glances. He doesn’t understand her pain any longer. He wouldn’t even want to try.

She falls back into memories to stave off the rising panic making her want to tear at her throat or slash at her wrists to get at the deep red blood pumping away to fill her grey world with colour once again. But then she remembers that she doesn’t even bleed red any more. Her blood is black as pitch and feels just as thick as it tries desperately to push its way through her heavy heart and maybe when she lost that colour she lost a part of her she didn’t know she needed to survive. Maybe she should have stayed in the sky among the other black, empty void and never learned the truth of all the shades of blue she sees every night in her dreams.

Clarke focuses and thinks back on the time when things with Bellamy finally came to a head a few months ago. He grabbed her in the middle of a rather spectacular argument and smashed his lips down on hers. It was angry and domineering and tasted bitter like betrayal. She had scrubbed a hand over her lips, feeling a little sad and confused. He had flushed and apologized and they had buried everything as deeply as they could in the vast boneyard of sins between them.

It had taken her days to realize that what had once been an unattainable and magnetic attraction, something that bound them together through need and fear and circumstance had festered and become something ugly and chaotic. It pushed them apart rather than pulled them together and there was too much anger and too much pain to lay to rest between them for any chance at a normal, healthy relationship. When he had kissed her it had felt like something that had to happen rather than something she needed to keep breathing. Not like it had been with Roan. He gave her back the breath she struggled to find.

And suddenly the spots started flashing at the edges of her vision again, and her breath was rasping through her lungs as she desperately pushed her legs forward. Her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s behind her sternum and the tight band around her throat pulled tighter and tighter. But she knew the way by heart and hoped that it would be deserted and maybe she could find a place to draw a breath. Somewhere that didn’t pull every last molecule of moisture out of her skin and bones and leave it to bleed into the too cold concrete walls.

She punches in the memorized series of numbers, fingers shaking desperately and slipping as they slide, slick with panicked sweat. On the third try the hiss of the hydraulic door signals her success and she ducks into the rich air of the hydroponic farm station. She looks around desperately, but there was no one down there as she’d hoped and she gulps the air greedily, finally able to escape the tinny nothingness of the bunker.

The air in here is warm and humid; the earthy scent of greenery, herbs and plants filling the air with life that wasn’t found anywhere else in the man-made bunker. The air hums and sparks with life and the blue UV lights made the green of the plants take on an ethereal sheen. Her fingers caress the deep green leaves and release the cool, crisp scent of mint making the air taste fresh and sweet. She moves toward a bank of strawberry plants and slides down the wall, closing her eyes and breathing deeply in the rich air.

She tries to shake the picture of Raven leaning against Roan’s chest like she belonged there and presses the heels of her hands hard against her eyes in an attempt to physically dig it out of her mind. But the picture stays and morphs into writing bodies on a bed she knows is less comfortable than her cot but remains the only place in the whole bunker she can sleep without waking up in a cold sweat dreaming of being buried alive.

There is a soft hiss and a steady dripping of the automatic watering system showering the plants and her in a fine mist, the moisture in the air settling and beading into thousands of pinpricks on her overheated skin. She concentrates on the sensation as each tiny droplet joined another and another and another on her face and soon track down her cheeks and neck, pooling in the hollow of her throat. If she tries really hard she can almost pretend it’s rain.

She swallows, her throat still tight and her chest in a vice and she tries desperately to fill her starving body with oxygen, hands fisted on her knees as she tries to count the steady drip drip dripping of a leaking tap. But she loses count after twelve because for some reason she can’t seem to remember what comes after it. She feels tears gathering and wants to scream, knowing she can’t spare a single drop of her precious water supply and she certainly wouldn’t waste it crying.

“It wouldn’t do for people to find you hiding, Wanheda.” The only reason Clarke doesn’t think the voice has come from her own panicked imagination is the feel of two familiar hands settling on her shoulders and the added heat of another body before her, the slightly elevated rush of breath indicating he had been looking for her.

“I can’t breathe,” she gasps and she hates herself for not being able to hide anything from the man before her. She is trembling, terrified that he may be able to see the reason why she had abandoned her friends and everyone else to seek the comfort of the only place that reminded her that there was more to life than recycled air and metal doors.

“Yes, you can,” he encourages voice a low rumble that reminds her of thunder rolling through the hills. “Remember the first day we met, the storm we took shelter from under the pine trees. You collected rain in your palm and watched it fall for hours.”

She takes a deep, shaky breath but refuses to open her eyes. His choice of words amuses her and distracts from some of the panic. There was no version of meeting anyone that included kidnapping under its definition except theirs. But the picture he painted for her was working and she focuses on the soothing sound of his breathing and lets her mind remember. It was less humiliating to hide than it was to admit that she had been running from him and that she needed him now.

“Good girl,” he says as her breathing evens out and she feels him sit back away from her. “Now will you tell me why you ran away?”

“No,” Clarke answers, voice a whisper as she starts counting once again but finds herself still stuck on that ridiculous number.

She hears him shift and huff out a heavy breath as he sits beside her, his shoulder butting up against her own, his thigh flush against her and she feels her fists unclench a little. She draws strength from the gentle press of his body and the regular rhythm of his breaths as they sit in silence in the humid air.

“How did you find me?” she asks after finally regaining control over the tremor in her hands and voice.

“You always seek out the rain,” he answers simply. “This is as close as you’ll get in here.”

Her eyes open then and look straight ahead. She sees the blood red fruit before her deeply envious of its splash colour in her grey world. She knows the sharp tangy sweetness of the berry and loves the way the juices stain her fingertips. But down here they were rationed and it took her weeks to save up enough credit to buy a bowl and it was another feat to eat them on her own. She always has to share with someone. There was always someone in more need than her who shot her that particular look she couldn’t resit and gave what she had to give to them. Perhaps too often.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispers, dropping her face into her hands, feeling the shameful tears burn against her lids. But she knows she has to protect the only piece of herself she has left that’s still hers alone. Her heart was too bruised and battered to withstand another break, especially one entirely of her own making. Though she doubts she's managed to protect it as she already feels the deep crack spreading between her ventricles at the thought of going back to his indifferent masks and distant eyes.

“I would ask for clarification, but I fail to see the advantage in playing dumb,” he says with a deep sigh. She thinks he sounds disappointed but maybe that was just her foolish and naïve hope.

“Can I at least know why?” he asks after a moment, and she finally turns to look at him. He is staring straight ahead, a muscle twitching in his jaw and his eyes set in a frown. He looks older and more distant than she has ever seen him and the crack in her heart deepens.

“I thought I could do this casually,” she says, her voice breaking, and she looks away to blink away the tears that rebelled and spilled out of the corner of her eyes. She takes a breath and decides that maybe it was time to lay her cards on the table and try a little honesty. They had had enough attempts in the past and never quite gotten there in the end.

“But seeing Rae. Seeing anyone, like that, with you. It hurt too much,” she says with a quiet sniff, a hand brushing softly at her flushed cheeks, embarrassment giving her the flush of colour she is so desperate for.

“Clarke,” he starts but hesitates and she feels humiliation burn in her chest. She knew it was coming, but she doesn’t realize how much it will hurt to have him dismiss her like the naive girl she is. He is older than her, holds a powerful position, in charge of all the survivors in this bunker and though they certainly enjoy each other’s company, it is too much to overcome. He is a king and she is just a silly girl who had fallen from the sky, about to crash and burn. Maybe everyone would feel the impact of her shattered soul and broken bones and the concrete walls would crack in sympathy before they buried her down here among the lost and lonely.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice soft but firm. She exhales a shaky breath and screws up her courage and turns back to him.

“I am not interested in anyone,” he pauses and the knife twists firmly in her chest. “Not when I have you.”

“But-“ she frowns his words not registering as they should have in her mind. Her filter must be broken, or activated when it shouldn’t be so that his words wouldn’t hurt the way they should.

“If this is not what you want,” he interrupts her thoughts, reaching for one of her hands. “Then I will let you go. But if this has anything to do with thinking there is anyone else for me, then it would be wrong of me if I didn’t correct that misassumption.”

Silence falls between them and she feels the calluses on his fingers brush against the soft skin of her wrist. He was always so warm and it contrasted with her perpetually frozen hands. She used to think it was because he wore so much heavy clothing, stubbornly refusing to adjust to the temperature in Polis, but she had come to learn he just ran hot. She would press herself against his naked flesh as they lay together in the cold air and not need anything but his skin against her own to stave off the chill.

“We’ve never talked about us,” she says looking down to where his larger hand engulfs her own. Her heart is shaking in her chest at the thought of there being an ‘us’ for them to discuss.

“I didn’t want to push you,” he admits, tugging her closer and locking his eyes on hers. The blue tint of the UV lights makes his eyes stand out even more than normal.

“I have a decade on you,” the king continues with a small shrug that hints at insecurity. “You’re still figuring things out. I didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t wanting or ready for.”

“Just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean I don’t know my own mind,” she argues, frowning, but hope flares brightly in her chest.

“I know,” he acknowledges with a small smile that hints at hard won knowledge. “Forgive me, I am not very good at these types of discussions and situations.”

“Relationships?” she asks, but there was a light edge that softens the atmosphere between them.

“They haven’t played an overly prominent role in my life before,” he admits with a small grin, and she thinks he might feel the same spark of hope behind his own sternum as she does.

“Well my track record isn’t exactly the best,” she says, thinking back on two bodies and one rather unsuccessful attempt at forgetting what Roan’s kisses made her feel.

“I’ve never been a man who backs down from a challenge,” he says, shifting to face her more fully, free arm propped up on his knee. Clarke shifts closer and leans toward him.

“I’m not sure I like being called a challenge,” she teases and smiles as she sees the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “Makes me sound like a delinquent child.”

“Isn’t that what you call yourselves?” he challenges, cupping her cheek and smiling at her and there is not a trace of a mask or indifference on his features.

When he leans in and kisses her in the strawberry scented air it reminds her of a gathering storm. The electricity that flows through the dark clouds runs through him and into her and she falls against him, fitting perfectly against the hard planes of his chest. He pulls her closer and she feels the low drum of his heart as it beats against the palm of her hand and she thinks that maybe it’s time for her to face the coming storm. His kisses taste like promises and she feels the steady tracks of the beads of moisture as they slide down the valley between her breasts. He smells of earth and sky and rain and home.

2.

Two weeks after the anniversary of praimfaya and moving into the bunker found Clarke eating dinner alone in the canteen. She had just finished a gruelling shift in the infirmary where she had stayed on an extra three hours to help a young boy who was suffering with a high fever. There had been a recent spike in influenza and some of the younger kids had been hit pretty hard. But it had now gone through most of the population so hopefully her long days in the infirmary were going to ease a little.

She was eating in silence focusing on satisfying the burning hunger in her belly, not paying attention to the low hum of conversation around her. She felt the weight of exhaustion in her limbs and struggled to keep her head high and suppress the yawns that wanted to escape. She couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and give in to the insistent tug of much needed sleep. She had hoped to run into Roan and requisition his bed but hadn't seen him since the morning.

"This seat taken?" Clarke looked up, mouth full and saw Scott from farm station looking at the seat across from her hopefully. She shook her head slowly and tried her best to glance around discreetly at the rest of the cafeteria only to find it half-empty. She frowned wondering why exactly he had opted to sit with her and wondered just how quickly she could stuff her food into her face without choking.

"So, I haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he remarked a little too casually, and she had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.

He had shaggy brown hair and soft brown eyes and she thought he was a few years older than her but she couldn't quite remember. She had never had anything to with him in space, or Arkadia for that matter, but since her visits to the hydroponic farm had become increasingly common in the last few months she had gotten to know many of the workers.

"I've been swamped at the clinic," she said politely, not inclined to make small talk when all she wanted to do was eat and collapse into bed. It was a lie in part, having found that she had less need for farm station the last two weeks.

She had found that the walls had stopped their steady crawl towards her since her talk with Roan where they had decided where they stood now as a couple. The idea was still foreign to her and a little odd, but it left a warm glow in her belly so she had decided to just enjoy it rather than analyse it. They had opted to be discreet, but she knew who she was to him now and it eased her anxiety and kept the roof from pressing down on her.

"Yeah, I got the bug a week back, it had me in bed for two days," he said with a laugh and Clarke stretched her lips into an approximation of a smile. She felt awkward and unsure of where he was looking to take the conversation.

“So is there a reason you spend so much time in farm station?” he continued when Clarke chose not to reply, a suggestive smirk on his lips.

“It reminds me of the ground,” she said plainly, not wanting to entertain anything other than the truth. She ran through her interactions with the man but couldn’t think of anything that would have suggested she’d be open to his attention.

“Yeah, I can see why you’d miss it,” Scott said, sipping at his drink. “There was so much to look at but it’s much safer in here. Less chance of someone attacking us or starting another idiotic war over nothing. At least things are predictable and lawful in here.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him and couldn’t help but see him as completely naïve. Granted, many in Skaikru seemed completely happy to blissfully ignore the intricacies of the clan politics, and she had too at the beginning, but now it was part of her daily life. She understood how deeply long-held feuds could run and how they could poison generations to come. One murder or a careless death had the power to spiral out of control in a world where you had to fight for your right to walk the earth and breathe the air. Skaikru were soft and Clarke had finally come to see just how unprepared they had been for life on the ground. And how arrogant they were to think they were the ones destined to survive.

She thought of sharp, knowing eyes and long ropey scars and knew without a doubt that her place was no longer with the people of the sky. Like Octavia she had shed her wings and longed to feel the solid push of earth beneath her feet. She cast her eyes around the room once more, content to ignore Scott who was still praising their new safety and how life in the bunker was ‘cosy’. She felt the familiar grip of panic at the descriptor and tried to remember what petrichor smelled like.

"Did you enjoy yourself at the party?" He continued, obviously not picking up on the dismissive vibes that she was trying to send him. She stuffed another heaping fork of pasta in her mouth and chewed slowly. Scott smiled at her in a way she assumed was made to show off the dimples in his cheeks and she couldn't help but think he looked too soft and childlike.

"I'm not sure you should be calling it a party," she said after swallowing. "Celebrating the deaths of thousands of people sounds quite sociopathic, even by my standards."

He laughed and Clarke was so shocked she let her mouth hang open.

"Well I suppose if you want to see it that way you can," he said, eyes sparkling and Clarke suddenly found she’d lost her appetite. She looked down at the half finished dinner with regret, and drank the vitamin-enriched water that came with their daily rations as quickly as she could. She paid for her rush when she choked inelegantly and started coughing violently, Scott all too eager to slide over next to her and rub her back.

She tried to pull away, but the more she strained to calm the coughing the worse it got.

“Water. Gets you every time,” Scott’s voice cut through her rattling breaths and she clenched her fist, trying desperately to keep her temper in check. She didn’t want his attention and his hand was still rubbing circles between her tense shoulders.

“I’ve been looking for you, Wanheda,” Roan’s voice intoned smoothly and she straightened, but felt Scott’s hand tighten on her shoulder. “You’re late.”

“Everyone’s entitled to dinner,” Scott snapped in a misguided attempt at protection. Clarke happily pulled away and turned in her seat to look up at the king and Scott blanched as he did the same, realizing just whom he had spoken to.

“Indeed,” Roan agreed, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stared down the young farm station boy. “I expected to see you an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, shaking her head, running a tired hand over her eyes. “One of the boys from Trikru has been struggling to break his fever and I stayed to let the night nurse have a chance to take a nap before her shift. Melanie has been working doubles all week to keep up with all the sick kids and she needed the extra break.”

He nodded, eyes reflecting his concern, and she in turn ran her eyes down his body. He’d obviously been training earlier as he held his sword in his right hand and was dressed in short sleeves under his protective leather vest and his Azgeda leather trousers, a long scar on his bicep standing out as he flexed his hand around the hilt. She couldn’t help a small smirk at the imposing picture he made. She looked to her left and noted Scott’s wide-eyed and wary regard of the warrior. The poor boy just couldn’t compare.

She was caught off guard by a yawn so wide it cracked her jaw and made her eyes water.

“You should go get some sleep, Clarke,” Scott decided to interject, laying a hand on her shoulder and shooting a challenging glance up at the Ice Nation king. “Maybe we can catch up next time you’re down visiting?”

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up and she wanted to burst out laughing at the notion of visiting with him. But she bit down hard on her lip to stop the compulsion. She was about to shake her head and gently turn him down when Roan spoke up.

“I’m quite confidant Wanheda has more important matters to attend to,” his voice was low and heavy with warning, as he glared down at the brown-eyed boy.

“I’m sure that’s up to Clarke to decide,” he decided to press his luck, finding a scrap of bluster and bravado at the chance of impressing a pretty girl. His eyes flickered briefly to hers and there was a light flush over his cheeks. Clarke wanted to bury her face in her hands.

“It always has been,” Roan acknowledged and held his hand out for her to take, helping her to her feet. When she stood before him, he raised the fingers of her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on them, eyes locked with hers. He stepped closer, marking his territory for anyone who was watching and Clarke suddenly realized there were many eyes turned in their direction. The assembled people were desperate for a bit of gossip where the Skaikru princess and the Azgeda king were concerned it seemed. There was going to be enough fodder to spread like wildfire through the bunker tonight after the king’s subtle claiming of her metaphorical hand.

Scott’s eyes widened and he flushed in embarrassment. Clarke felt a pang of sympathy but it didn’t last long as all she had wanted to do was eat a meal in peace. She had never led him on. She’d hardly spoken to him before today.

“I just have to drop this off at the scullery,” she said, reaching of her tray and popping the empty glass on it. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Scott.”

Roan waited for her as she cleared her tray, the silence in the canteen giving way to a frantic whispered buzz of conversation. Clarke couldn’t get out of there fast enough, but refused to slow her steps to show it. She smiled up at him as he fell into step beside her and he responded with a quirked lip as they left the confused want-to-be suitor and gossipmongers behind.

When the door to his rooms clicked shut behind them, she turned to face him, his smirk insufferable as he leaned against the door.

“What happened to being discreet?” she asked one eyebrow raised in question as she crossed her arms over her chest. She had thought they had mutually decided to keep things quiet, neither one interested in others poking around in their personal lives.

“I decided I’d prefer that everyone knows to keep their hands off what’s mine,” he growled and pulled her hard against him, a soft smile on his face making his icy blue eyes glitter.

“So you mark your territory like a dog?” she laughed, but slid her arms around his neck. Truthfully she didn’t really mind that it was out in the open. It meant she could abandon her cot in the dorm and spend more nights in here without facing too many questions. And she’d never slept half as well as she did with him.

“A wolf maybe,” he chuckled and caught her lips in a searing kiss. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she entertained the thought of dismissing sleep for an hour with the very tempting man. But her body had other ideas as she pulled away abruptly, another yawn tearing through her.

“To bed, Wanheda,” he murmured. “You’ve been working too hard.”

“I’m not that tired,” she tried only to yawn wider than before and Roan slipped an arm under her knees and carried her to bed, laughter shaking through his chest.

“A nap then,” he said, laying her on the wide bed and reaching for the laces of her boots. “I promise to wake you so we can take advantage of the little privacy we are still offered.”

“Mmmm,” the blonde hummed in reply, wrestling with her shirt and giving up with her arms bundled in the long sleeves. The cool air of the room brushed over her skin as Roan divested her of her pants and he finished pulling her shirt off and pulled the blanket over her. She was asleep before he joined her, but he was true to his word and she would never regret the nap if his method of waking her remained the same.

  
3.

Roan ran his fingers along the edges of the pages as he scanned them. He was reclining on his bed, waiting for Clarke to finish up and join him for the night but knew he had a couple of hours yet before her mother took over for her. So he indulged a rare evening off to read one of the books he had borrowed from the bunker library.

Growing up in Azgeda they had access to a few books and as a prince he was taught to read and write in English as well as the local dialects, but once he came of age his life became less about learning and knowledge and more about war strategies and training. So was the way in Ice Nation under Nia’s harsh rule. He had spent a few evenings occasionally indulging his secret hobby and often took time to listen to the elders who spoke to him when he borrowed the treasured books. He knew the power that lay in knowledge and science and was less fearful and dismissive of it than many other of his people. But savagery was the way of man, no matter how derisively he had dismissed the idea to Clarke in the past.

They lived in a hard land, especially in Azgeda, where food was often scarce in the long cold winter months. People were constantly at war for few resources and learning to fight and kill was more important for survival than the works of Shakespeare or the philosophies of Martin Luther. But Roan understood their value and now that he was safer than he had ever been before, he indulged his passion with voracious appetite.

Clarke happily indulged him, even before they started their more intimate relationship. He had demanded she take a role on the council initially because he knew she was the only Skaikru member that seemed to understand the importance of their alliance and treated it with the respect it deserved. His trust for Marcus Kane came with her gentle encouragement, and once he spent a bit more time listening and observing the Skaikru Chancellor he saw that they shared ideals and leadership goals. When Roan started asking more questions about what Skaikru was like in space, she patiently answered everything she could. One day she told him that the best way to understand what Skaikru fought so hard to preserve was to read as much as he could from the library, to see what had been carefully tucked away for future generations.

It surprised him how at ease Clarke made him feel. Though he was not one for declarations and feelings, he knew he trusted her in a way he’d never trusted anyone before. He hadn’t been raised with love as a goal in life, Nia’s lessons were as harsh as their winters and she taught him that love was a weakness that would only be exploited. But he found himself questioning the idea lately, though he was far from thinking in those specific terms. But he trusted The small blonde and cared deeply for her. He admired her courage and the fire inside her to do good for the people they had managed to save and in memory of the ones they couldn’t.

He knew he wanted to face the future with her by his side, but he was wary of pushing her too hard. As he’d said when he found her shaking in the hydroponic farm, eyes wide with fear and breathing erratically, he wanted her to set the pace. She was so much younger than him in some aspects. She still carried hope and lightness like a banner to fight below and he knew he had lost that idealism somewhere many years and battles ago and it weighed on him. But he knew that she had grown up quickly and had seen enough to sometimes hate the world like he did. She had sacrificed herself and others, both been betrayed and betrayed others and that left scars deep inside a person. She still clung to what little innocence she had and made him forget his anger long enough to soothe his fears. He knew he needed her in his life. He could only hope she needed him as well.

A knock startled him out of his thought and he frowned, not expecting company. He sighed knowing it was probably a dispute of some sort that needed seeing to and as much as he loved his people, he wished they could find a way to fit a little easier down here.

“Healer Griffin,” he greeted, surprised at the short woman revealed to him as he opened the door.

“Roan,” she returned and looked briefly over his shoulder. “May I come in?”

He swept out an arm in invitation and stepped back to allow her entry. He felt a prickling of unease as he guessed at her reason for seeking him out alone in his chambers.

“What are your intentions with my daughter?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest, chin raised to meet his gaze. He wanted to smile seeing where Clarke got her defiance from but smothered it quickly.

“Straight to it then?” he asked, gesturing for her to sit at the small table in his quarters. She shook her head and he straightened to his full height.

“I don’t see the point in beating around the bush,” Abby said unapologetically.

“I don’t have any intentions toward, Clarke,” he answered slowly, and Abby’s eyes narrowed as she opened her mouth to reply. “I have hopes, but as to what I intend with her, that is not a discussion I will have.”

“You’re arguing over semantics and vocabulary?” Abby asked flabbergasted.

“No, I want to be precise,” he replied and leaned back against the table, sitting down on its edge and crossing one foot over the other. “I do not have a specific plan for my future with your daughter. But I have hopes.”

“And are you willing to disclose any of these to me?” the doctor challenged, but she seemed a little more at ease. “Clarke is still very young.”

“She has experienced enough,” he argued, but the comment struck a little deeper than he’d hoped.

“Experienced yes,” she agreed. “But you’re still twelve, thirteen years older? It’s a lot more than I wanted for her.”

“I can imagine there wouldn’t be many who would meet the expectations of what you want for your daughter,” he countered, eyes steady.

“Touché,” she sighed, but her eyes remained hard. She uncrossed her arms, eyes flickering around the room and landing on a sketchbook and charcoals Clarke had left a few days ago. She frowned and found her fire once again.

“I am not happy about this,” Abby said, and he had assumed as much. “To maintain a relationship with you is significantly more complicated. There are plenty of nice young men she could spend her time with.”

“And she chooses to spend her time with me,” he said, weary and not in the mood for this particular confrontation.

“Why?” she asked, face set. “Why does she choose to spend her time with you?”

The question caught him by surprise. He had expected her to attack as soon as she walked through the door and had navigated through the questions as best as he could, answering when normally he would have dismissed her from his presence without a second thought. But even though their relationship had its share of problems and troubled history, Clarke loved her mother and it would be important to get along with her.

“That’s a question for Clarke to answer,” he said, shaking his head though he was wondering the same not half an hour earlier.

“Why do you think she chooses you over others?” the small alteration drew his dark brows down into a frown. He really didn’t want to answer any personal questions; he was not someone who spoke to fill a void. He preferred to watch and read people and to weigh the words they chose before choosing his own.

“Because I understand her,” he acknowledged finally. “I don’t shy away from her pain and her past or fail to acknowledge her faults.”

“You are the only one who continues to call her Wanheda on a regular basis,” Abby pointed out. “Is that not putting her on a pedestal?”

“She earned that title,” he said perhaps a little harshly. “And continues to every day. It is an honour she is worthy of and I respect her for it.”

“To command death?” Abby snorted in disbelief. “That’s not honour. That’s murder.”

“Do you not command death too?” he narrowed his eyes and watched the doctor falter. “You averted my death when you pulled that bullet from my chest. Preventing death requires as much control as taking life.”

“I hadn’t considered it from that perspective,” she admitted softly after a moment. Her dark eyes had softened a fraction and watched him closer than before.

“Most will not.”

Abby was quiet, analysing the conversation as she watched him. He wondered briefly how she saw him. The Skaikru were so different from the life he had been born into. He was a king and had earned his scars through a hard fought life. He was worn and weary and not at all what the Skaikru seemed to hold in high regard. But he was still proud and knew that he would fight for Clarke now that he had finally gotten her to be a part of his life.

“Do you hope that she will be queen one day?” Abby asked quietly, eyes not quite holding his. She shifted on her feet, but her stance was less hostile and more resigned.

"Perhaps," he admitted quietly, the answer rough as it was torn reluctantly from him. Regardless of how he felt about her daughter, he was slowly losing patience with the mother.

"And you love her?" Abby persisted and his patience ended with a harshly expelled breath of air through his nose. He stared at her icily refusing to answer.

"I'm sorry," Abby apologized, rubbing at her arms. "I've overstepped."

He continued to watch her silently, he had revealed more than he had ever intended to and he felt uncomfortable though he hid it behind his usual indifferent mask. Abby seemed to understand that it was time to leave and cleared her throat. He straightened and walked toward the door, but her voice made him pause before he turned the knob.

"Clarke has been hurt by too many people, myself included," she said and laid a hand on his arm. "I just don't want her to get her heart broken. I'm sorry if I offended you. I'm just trying to protect her."

"It is natural for a mother to be concerned for their child," he said softly, the words still cutting as deeply into him as they had when he learned Nia showed no such concern about her eldest son.

It was as much as he could offer in terms of reassurance. He doubted it would be Clarke’s heart that would struggle to recover if their relationship should fail. Abby squeezed his arm and smiled softly as she passed by him and out the door. Roan exhaled heavily and leaned against it after it clicked shut behind the healer. He shook his head and returned to his reading, not finding it quite as intriguing but wanting to do his best to quell the uncharacteristic insecurity the conversation had wrought.

  
4.

Clarke looked up to see her mother enter the clinic and smiled at her. She was happy that her shift was over knowing Roan was waiting for her to finish up for the evening. She had planned to grab some sandwiches and fruit from the canteen before making her way to his room, content to spend the rest of the evening locked away in their own personal bubble. Since their public ‘outing’ the previous week there had been too many curious stares thrown their way whenever they interacted in public and it was already wearing on her.

“Busy day?” Abby asked shrugging into a lab coat and reaching for the chart Clarke held out to her.

“No, it’s been steady, but not busy,” she said and proceeded to give her mother a rundown of all the current patients in the infirmary. They only had three and all would require little care over night. Two were recovering from surgery and one had been hooked up to an IV after she had been unable to keep food or liquids down for a couple of days.

“Anything exciting happen today?” Clarke asked her mother idly, not expecting much.

Abby had obviously heard the rumours about her and Roan and had asked her directly about it the previous afternoon. Clarke had answered in the affirmative that they were indeed in a relationship, though calling the king her boyfriend seemed laughably ridiculous. She wondered what he would say if she referred to him as such and a soft smile stole across her lips when she pictured his probable reaction.

“I spoke with Roan,” Abby said, following Clarke into the small office connected to the clinic and closing the door. Clarke froze and whipped her head around to stare at her mother.

“You did what?” she asked horrified. She held desperately onto the hope that the conversation had related to something other than recent developments in their personal relationship, but with the way her mother’s spine straightened she doubted it had been that innocent.

“If you insist on seeing a man, especially one of his,” Abby cast her eyes around searching for the proper descriptor, “standing, I wanted to know what his intentions are towards you. Every person in this bunker has heard about it by now. Who would even dare to date you after the king of the Ice Nation?”

“And you’re assuming there will be someone after him?” Clarke asked, crossing her arms and bracing her legs apart ready for a fight if needed, feeling her old defences against her mother firmly snapping into place.

“Won’t there be?” Abby asked head cocked to one side. Clarke could sense a trap closing around her so she rolled her eyes and leaned back against the single desk in the room.

“And what exactly gave you the right to ask about his intentions?” The blonde argued instead of answering the question hanging in the air.

“I’m your mother, Clarke. Does that mean so little to you?” Abby looked a little hurt at her daughter’s anger and she deflated a little.

“No, but the relationship is still very new. Sort of,” she shook her head, not wanting to get into details. “And I didn’t exactly expect you to go and question the motives of a king.”

“I wasn’t questioning his leadership,” her mother argued. “I was asking him where he sees this relationship between you going. It’s part of my rights and responsibilities as your parent.”

“Just like sedating me and sending me to earth?” she mumbled and looked up at her mother’s sharp intake of breath. Seeing the flash of pain in her dark eyes made regret flare in her chest and she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” she apologized. “But you should have asked me before you went to speak to him if there was something you were concerned about.”

“I wasn’t interested in your answers,” Abby countered, eyebrows raised.

“And you don’t trust me to make the right choices?” the blonde challenged, feeling disappointment flood her belly. “I’m nineteen, Mom. I am capable of picking who I want to spend my time with.”

“Nineteen,” Abby sighed. “And he’s thirty-two. Not to mention he’s a king who has an entire people to take care of. Do you even know what he expects from you? What he expects from your relationship?”

“It’s none of your business. It's not anyone’s business but ours,” Clarke said shaking her head. “And you may have noticed that I also share in those responsibilities for our people too. My relationship with Roan is between Roan and me. Any expectations of our relationship are also between us.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt again, Clarke! When Lexa died-“ she started but Clarke spoke up.

“Everyone has their share of bad relationships. Not every single one works out but that doesn't mean you should stop trying,” Clarke argued. “You wouldn’t be with Marcus if you actually believed what you’re trying to convince me of. I’m not going to waste my time arguing about this. I may not have the best history with relationships, but that doesn’t mean this one won’t be good.”

“And if he breaks your heart?” Clarke swallowed hard not wanting to think about it. She shook her head a little sadly.

“Then he breaks it and I cry, and heal, and eventually move forward,” she said with a sigh and the words tasted sour in her mouth. “There’s nothing in life that isn’t worth a little bit of risk. I’d regret not being with him more than fixating possibility of him breaking my heart.”

Abby didn’t say anything and Clarke tore her eyes from the patch of concrete floor she had fixed her eyes on. Her mother was watching her with a soft expression that she wasn’t sure she liked. It was new and different and one she wasn't sure she could read correctly. She tucked a curl behind her ear and her eyes strayed to the clock. She wanted to leave and was annoyed her mother had managed to quell her growing anticipation of a well-earned night of rest.

“If my opinion counts at all,” Abby said and Clarke’s eyes sharpened and focussed on her. “I like him. He obviously respects and cares for you. I hope he makes you happy.”

Clarke could have been knocked over by a feather as shocked as she was by her mother’s words and the sincerity she saw glittering in the depths of her brown eyes. She was suddenly very curious about what was said between her mother and the fearsome Azgeda king. She frowned and felt the air rush from her lungs.

“He does, Mom,” she said as she pulled her into a hug. “But please come to me next time you’re worried about protecting me. I can look after myself.”

Abby smiled and nodded a little shakily, eyes suspiciously shiny.

“Go,” the doctor said, clearing her throat. “Enjoy your night off.”

“Thank you,” Clarke said with a small smile. She wasn’t about to waste any more time, especially with a newfound burning need to find out how the other half of the challenge had fared this afternoon.

She rushed down to the canteen and almost threw her hands up in frustration when she noticed Raven and Bellamy at the end of the line. She had been avoiding her friends for the past week, always finding an excuse to be somewhere else. But she would either have to forfeit the dinner she had ordered because she wanted to delay the inevitable, or she could screw up her courage and face them.

Clarke had planned on speaking to Raven the day after what she had dubbed ‘the canteen incident’ and had arranged to, but she was called in to meet with Indra and the opportunity slipped away along with Clarke’s courage. Not that she thought her friend would react badly to Clarke’s relationship status. If anything, Raven would be thrilled that she had found something to distract herself with, but the blonde was unsure how she would feel when she found out just how long they had been involved. Raven’s temper was well known and since the bunker celebration she had been quietly embarrassed about her blatant attempt at seducing the king and Clarke didn’t think she would appreciate Clarke having kept this from her.

Bellamy was another potentially awkward encounter. He had never really warmed to Roan, even after a year working together. There was a lot of tension between them, and Clarke had spent less time with the curly haired man since their kiss. She knew they would eventually work through the awkwardness, but it would take time and a little distance, and that was hard to find underground. Hearing that he had been rejected for a man he disliked may cause some old anger to boil up between them again and Clarke was so tired of conflict. Some days it hung in the air of the bunker, thick as fog, corrupting everyone unable to withstand its suffocating pull.

She approached quietly, hoping that if she didn’t say anything they may not notice her.

“Hey Clarke!” Monty waved from a table near the back just as she reached the end of the line and suddenly two sets of dark eyes were boring into her blue ones. She threw a shy wave at Monty and got into line behind her friends.

“So the elusive Clarke Griffin decided to grace us with her presence,” Bellamy’s tone was tinged with a little bitterness but not the anger she had secretly feared and expected.

“Yeah, it’s been more than a week. I don’t think you’ve avoided me this long since Finn,” Raven’s tone more than made up for the anger missing from Bellamy’s and Clarke felt herself flush.

“I’ve been busy,” she murmured and Raven rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Sure,” the mechanic said. “So should we take from how busy you are that you don’t have time for us commoners these days?”

“Rae,” Clarke said, the anger in her friend’s tone was like a physical blow to her chest. “I’m sorry, with the recent flu and other things, I’ve been a little overwhelmed.”

“And definitely not hiding?” Bellamy asked and it became clear that she was about to be subjected to some sort of bizarre good-cop/bad-cop routine.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said, holding his eyes. “I just didn’t know how to deal with everything and I can barely walk down the hall without people blatantly staring at me.”

“Yeah, we figured,” he said and his lips quirked up fractionally. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard rumours spread so quickly down here before. Probably not even on the Ark.”

“But you still should have said something before I threw myself at him,” Raven grumbled and shook her finger at her. “I’m not going to forgive you for that unless you tell me in great detail just what I’m missing out on.”

Clarke must have looked as shocked as she was by the abrupt change of tone in conversation and Raven burst out laughing, throwing an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she said through her chortles. “But it’s your fault you decided to keep everything to yourself and then avoid us like the fucking plague for over a week!”

“You’re not mad?” she asked, glancing to her right where Bellamy stood, moving forward with the flow of the line. “Either one of you?”

“Nah,” he said with the shake of his head. “You’re not as discreet as you seem to think you are, so I guessed something happened a couple of months ago. Not with him, but I knew there was someone you were sneaking off to see. And we have recently rediscovered a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“You’re-“ she said, eyes flashing between her friends and felt the smile grow on her face. Bellamy was smiling a little shyly at Raven who returned his grin with a cocky one of her own.

“Yeah, and we should really thank you by the way,” Raven said as they neared the front of the line. “Jordan and his trainees caught us in quite the compromising position down in the mechanics bay and I thought for sure we’d be the talk of the bunker for weeks. Lo and behold when we come up for a little bit of post-discovery sustenance expecting to grin and bear it, we hear all about how the king of Azgeda basically fucked you in the canteen!”

Clarke’s cheeks flushed as she groaned but she couldn’t keep the happy smile off her face. So Raven and Bellamy had decided to make, an apparently very public, go of it together and she was truly happy for them.

“That is not what happened,” the blonde argued as she reached the front of the line asking the young girl working there for her prepared order. She turned and fetched a box that was sitting on the counter, eyeing the blonde curiously. Clarke signed for the food and turned back to her grinning friends.

“Yeah, well, the version we heard was much more interesting,” Raven shook her head with a grin. “So he just drew his sword, challenging that arrogant little shit on the spot and Scott ran screaming from the room? I admit I can’t stand the guy so that makes for a pretty picture too.”

“I’m leaving,” Clarke said and turned away, the sound of her friend’s laughter following her to the door.

“Remember! I demand details! Many, many details!” Raven’s voice called out loudly through the room and Clarke raised her hand in a single fingered salute to her friend as she moved through the doorway.

She slowed her steps a fraction as she moved through the tunnels that led to Roan’s quarters. She was still smiling in relief at Raven and Bellamy’s reaction to her relationship, but knew that not everyone shared the opinion. Her mother especially. Suddenly the smile slid off her face, once again worried about what she had said to Roan. She didn’t doubt he could stand up for himself, and doubted the likes of Abby Griffin would rattle too many of his iron clad nerves, but their relationship was still new and potentially fragile. She didn’t appreciate her mother trying to intervene somewhere she wasn’t needed or wanted.

Reaching the door, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

“You’re late,” Roan greeted her, a smirk on his lips as he cracked the door open. Clarke rolled her eyes at him and pushed past him into the room, depositing the box of food on the table.

“My mother decided she needed to have some words,” Clarke admitted, busying herself with unpacking the sandwiches and fruit before pulling out a bottle of flavoured drink.

“It seems she’s made a habit of that today,” Roan said quietly, coming up behind her and tugging her elbow to turn her around to face him. His eyes were soft and a shade of pale blue that reminded her of summer skies.

“Yes, she told me she came to see you,” Clarke said with a frown, but he didn’t give any indication that it had bothered him. “She thinks she still has a right to protect me and stick her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“She’s your mother,” he remarked emotionlessly and she held his eyes seeing a flicker or something deep within them.

“I’m sorry if she said anything she shouldn’t have,” she reached up to run her fingers along the strong line of his jaw, relishing in being in his company regardless of the emotional tumult of the last half hour.

“She didn’t,” his eyes closed as she cupped his cheek and he bent his head to capture her lips in a kiss. It was slow and soft and almost made her forget the reason she was so worried about what her mother had done.

“Abby said she asked about your intentions,” Clarke whispered, resting her forehead against his in an attempt to get her breathing back to normal while offering her the opportunity to evade eye contact.

“And now you want to know how I answered her?” he asked and there was a note of something else under the humour in his tone.

“I may be just a little curious,” she admitted and he pulled back a little from her embrace. She opened her eyes to find him studying her closely. She was getting used to his scrutiny, but it still had a habit of making her insecure.

“I told her that I don’t have any particular intentions,” he continued and her heart thumped hard in her chest. “But that I have hopes for where this will go.”

“Hopes?” she clarified.

“I dislike the word intentions. It makes it sound like I schemed to get you and I have a particular plan in mind for you,” he explained, eyes straying momentarily to a spot over her shoulder and she smiled.

“So you don’t have a particular plan about this evening then?” she asked, pressing her body into his and was rewarded with his arms tightening around her middle.

“I may have some ideas,” his eyes dropped to her lips as he closed the distance between them and kissed her hard. Clarke surged up on her toes, crushing herself against him and threading her fingers into his hair.

“I think it’s time you told me all about them then. Or better yet, showed me,” Clarke said as she bit down on his lip and leapt up to wrap her legs around his waist. The great thing about sandwiches was that they would keep. For hours if necessary.

 

5.

It's months later when Clarke wakes one morning, blinking up in the muted automated lights that are meant to keep their circadian rhythms somewhat in check without real light in their artificial concrete tomb. She shifts under the blankets, brushing up against the warm body next to hers, unable to resist slipping a hand down the firm chest. Roan shifts in his sleep, the arm snaked intimately over her naked belly tugging gently to bring her closer. She had never imagined that he would be the type of man who enjoyed cuddling in bed, but he was always touching her when he lay next to her.

There was the exhausted, sweaty pile they fell into after sex, where he would hesitate before slipping out of her and hold her tightly after as if it replaced the feeling of being inside her. He would often pull her head to rest on his shoulder, threading his fingers deep into her curls and massage the base of her skull and it never failed to lull her into satiated slumber. But even the nights when they didn't have sex and she came just to enjoy the intimacy of sharing her personal space with someone else he would often pull her close and she would bury her nose in his chest and breathe in the warmth that radiated from his heart.

The dim light cast shadows around the room and she let her eyes move across the space, lighting on the odd collection of personal items. Her sketchpad and charcoals lay on the bedside table, a half finished horse staring lifelessly up at the plain ceiling. There was a small pile of hair elastics and odds and ends she pulled out of her pockets before bed carelessly piled on top of a book of Wordsworth's poetry she knew she should have returned to the library a week ago. The utilitarian chest of drawers across from the bed was half filled with her own sparse wardrobe while the upper drawers contained Roan's "bunkerwear" as she called it. It was a collection of the same basic clothing everyone wore in the bunker, the grounders having taken advantage of the new resource and it brought a sense of odd unity to the three clans. Though she still found it strange to see most grounders in the plain clothing of Skaikru rather than their usual collection of leathers, furs, and metal accessories.

The stark white bone crown sat on top of the chest next to the scabbard that housed Nia's sword, the one the king still carried despite the heavy memories it bore with it. He only brought it with him to training or when he donned his full king of Azgeda regalia but it held a place of pride in the modest room. Tacked to the wall above the crown was a myriad of Clarke's sketches. The black and white images spanned a variety of subjects from flora and fauna to the remains of Arkadia. Every time she pulled out another finished sketch she would add it to the bare walls wanting to cover every surface that remained cold and lifeless. Roan seemed to notice every new picture and had stopped peering over her shoulder as she sketched, happy to wait until the final result was added to the collection.

There were a few large chests in a row along the wall near the small table and she knew they contained Roan's heavy Azgeda clothing and whatever personal items he had brought with him when they moved underground. She had never asked what was in them but she found herself curious at what he would have decided would be worth keeping. There was the usual detritus that life left spread over the table. Clarke's notepad and pen she used at work was set out next to a thick ledger Roan used for his own council duties.

A red paper rose sat in the middle of the table, a gift from one of the young girls that Clarke had kept company in the sick bay for three days straight while she recovered from a burst appendix and was so sick that she couldn't be left alone, her breathing often erratic and running a fever nearly high enough to kill her. There had been another flu bug that ran rampant through the bunker the same week and they were desperately understaffed leaving Clarke to sleep fitfully next to the six year old, lulled into sleep by the regular beeps of the heart rate monitor. When her fever finally broke and she was stabilised Clarke found herself fainting in the supply room, too tired and hungry for her body to keep up after days of running on only adrenaline and sheer will.

Roan came and carried her from the clinic, her mother’s footsteps clicking along behind him as she rattled off a list of reasons why Clarke should have taken better care of herself and instructions for her care. She only remembered the soothing rumble of his voice as he assured Abby that he would see to her, there were too many still in need of the doctor and he had already seen to matters to guarantee she would stay two full days in bed as prescribed.

The man in question sighed in his sleep and burrowed his face into the blonde curls that were heaped above her head on the pillow. Clarke slid a leg over his and pressed herself closer to his side, tracing the soft ridges of muscle on his abdomen idly as she continued her perusal of the room. Somewhere along the line she had brought her black duffle bag from the dorm room where she hadn't spent the night in months. It was nearly empty with the exception of a spare pair of boots and some odds and ends she had kept since she came to the ground. It was a recent addition and it stood out, a little out of place in the room where everything else had seemingly found its ideal spot.

Above the bed she had tacked up more sketches and they were all of her favourite places in nature around Polis. There were towering trees and rushing waterfalls, the monochrome reproduction of the blood red bloom that grew to be as big as her head. And in the centre of it all was a multi frame piece where she had drawn the mountains lying in wait for an incoming storm, heavy grey clouds carrying the burden of a downpour, ready to bleed into the ground and run in wild disarray into the hard earth below. When she looked at it and closed her eyes sometimes she could taste the air and smell the mud beneath her feet and it made her heart stop its frantic racing to escape into the freedom of the skies above.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice rasped low, breaking the stillness of the room. He moved a little under her, sliding an arm under her neck and bringing her in close, nuzzling groggily into her hair like a big cat. His fingers ran down the length of her side and her skin twitched in response, the touch tickling her nerve endings.

"When did I move in with you?" She asked and felt him smile against her temple.

"Officially?" The soft slide of rough fingers became a warm caress, his hand stopping at the flare of her hips.

"Can I unofficially move into the king’s chambers?" She asked angling her head to look into his eyes. They smiled down at her, a crinkle at their corners and they reminded her that as much as she missed the rain she had something to keep her calm. She thanked whoever was looking out for her that his eyes were an ever-changing tribute to the skies.

"You already did," he said, his hand resuming its caress.

"What about officially?" She asked and took a moment to appreciate the bubbling excitement that flooded her at the thought that all of this was truly hers.

"Considering everyone has already assumed as much all that's left is to take your name off your bunk in the dorm," he said and she surged up and pressed a kiss to his lips. The hand on her hip tightened and a much too girly giggle bubbled out of her chest. She ran a hand over the scars on his back tracing the familiar webbed wings with her fingertips as she glanced back over at her black duffle bag and realised it was in exactly the right spot in the room.

"Does that mean I finally get to know all your deep dark secrets and explore what’s in those massive chests of yours?" She teased as she nipped at his lower lip, laughter dancing in her dark blue eyes.

"If you think some old books and a rather impressive collection of winter furs constitute my deepest darkest secrets you're welcome to them," he replied with a huff of laughter.

"No, but now I am curious about what they are," she said with the same teasing smile and his eyes flashed before he lowered his lips to hers with new determination. She had struck a nerve she didn't know lay exposed and soothed him with her body content in her knowledge that whatever he was still holding back from her he would share when he was ready. And she couldn't fault him from hiding something from her when she still hadn't told him that she loved him. There would be time for declarations.

6.

When Clarke had imagined just how she was going to reveal the depth of her feelings to Roan she had always thought it would be during the quiet intimacy that came in the dark of night, or if she was feeling particularly frivolous, in the groggy, languid time that came before you truly woke up. What she hadn’t anticipated was that it would be in the middle of a rather heated disagreement in front of several witnesses, her mother included.

“You are not going outside,” Roan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her, and she could see her mother nodding in agreement.

“But we have no other way of testing if my nightblood works,” she argued, standing toe to toe with him. “If it does, we can continue to develop it in the lab and we can start distributing it among the people here. It will save everyone.”

“And currently it will kill you as soon as you step out of that door,” he argued. “The radiation levels are still too high. Raven has even discovered that we may not be able to leave here at the five year mark.”

“You will not be able to leave here then,” she said shaking her head. “But I could. Luna would have been able to survive at those levels.”

“Luna was a true Natblida,” his voice dropped to dangerous growl that would have scared most who opposed him. “You are not.”

“We don’t know that!” she exploded at him, she felt her breathing start to quicken and her hands start to shake. “Mom destroyed the radiation chamber before we properly tested it. Luna needed time to assimilate the radiation before she built an immunity. We need to do this. It could be crucial to us actually leaving this pit one day.”

“I know you want to leave, but you need to do it safely, Clarke,” his eyes had softened a fraction, sensing her panic, but he remained resolute. “You’re not risking your life for this.”

“But it’s my life to risk. I'm not saying I will leave tomorrow, but a year from now would be worth testing. And I know it will work,” the other people in the room were silent, watching the exchange, not wanting to interfere, but Clarke couldn’t care less. She wasn’t about to be locked down here any longer than absolutely necessary.

“I will not allow it,” he said quietly. “If I have to lock you in our chambers to stop you, I will do it.”

“You would imprison me rather than let me try something that has a real chance of working?” she shook her head, hurt by the suggestion. Why couldn’t he see that she was only doing what she needed to do to guarantee the safety of the people down in the bunker? If it meant even five minutes outside for her, well then that was just an added bonus.

“Do not press this any further, your life is too valuable to throw away so pointlessly,” there was a sadness in his tone she didn’t like, but she could no longer see past the temper clouding her vision.

“My life is no more valuable than anyone else’s, but my body may have something that can ensure survival, it would be selfish of me to not be willing to try. You can’t stop me,” she put her hands on her hips and raised her chin, her body vibrating in suppressed anger.

“I can and I will,” he returned with steely determination, his own anger evident in the clench of his jaw and the tightness in his shoulders. “If you care at all for me or your mother or your friends you will forget this idiotic plan and start working on something that we can actually succeed with.”

“So you’re going to stoop to manipulating me?” she asked hurt by the new tactic. “You can’t use the fact that I love you against me. That’s not fair, Roan.”

His eyes flashed at her declaration and she realized what she had said only when the words hung in the deathly silent air. The anger drained from her immediately and was replaced by nauseous fear. She couldn’t stay in the room any longer with him looking at her as he was so she backed away, not looking at anyone else as she hurried from the council rooms. She didn't care if she was a coward for running.

Clarke knew she couldn’t go to farm station to hide out, it was the first place he looked for her when she disappeared so she went where she hoped Roan wouldn’t think to look. She went down to mechanics and quietly moved around the people working to sit down next to one of the rovers. This was the opposite of farm station, the air more metallic and the acrid smell of welding and engine oil made it harder for her to breathe and she generally tried to avoid it. But it would do until she could get her racing heart under control.

She knew deep down that going to the surface now was at best a death sentence, but she couldn’t sit still any longer just waiting for something to change. The radiation levels on the surface were supposed to start dropping within a year and they had still not showed any sign of doing so. Raven looked more stressed each time she reported on the most recent analysis and Clarke knew that this meant that there was nothing for it. But she also couldn’t help but wonder if something hadn’t happened to the sensor. The impact of the death wave and its destruction was enough to shake the bunker walls so something may have happened.

Clarke breathed deeply, the air stinging her nostrils and she closed her eyes trying to recall the sound of rain over the hiss and pops of the welder behind her. She couldn’t be stuck down here any longer than necessary. It was too much and people would start to feel the same panic she did. They had to restrict pregnancy down here too, though there was already a Trikru woman who was due a couple of months from now. But the CO2 scrubber wouldn’t support too many unplanned pregnancies and even that would make it difficult once it came time to go back to the surface.

She tried to keep her mind on the problems rather than the very real emotional pain that was festering in her chest. She had wanted to tell Roan she loved him for months, but she was terrified. Nothing in her experience with love, romantic or otherwise, had taught her anything but painful lessons. Loving Clarke had brought about both Finn and Lexa’s deaths, though she knew she couldn’t blame herself for them. That was something she had finally come to understand, but it was hard to deny that without her they both may still be alive today.

Her love for her parents was another source of pain. Her father’s death had left a stronger impression emotionally than her happy memories of him. It was so difficult to reconcile seeing him take his last breath with memories of falling asleep with her head on his chest as he recited fairytales from memory, voice a soothing rumble beneath her ear. The betrayal of his execution had erased so much joy from her, along with her trust in her mother and tainted the love and admiration she’d had for the strong woman.

So what she knew of love was pain and death and soul-deep scars. And she desperately wanted to hold on to the lightness and the joy she felt with Roan. The love she felt for him once she had admitted it to herself filled the cracks in her heart with hope she hadn’t felt in years. He was intelligent and loyal. He was kind to those he trusted and deeply empathetic to his people though he had been taught not to be. He defied a harsh unloving mother and her often cruel lessons. He was battered and bruised and had done things in his life he regretted as deeply as the things she did. But he smiled more now and it changed the lines on his face and brought a lightness to his eyes that made them sparkle with humour. She had learned so much about him and the more she uncovered the more intriguing he became.

He loved to read and could recite stories and mythology from memory and had admitted that he had spent hours learning them as a child, in secret from his mother. He had a wicked sense of humour and a dry sarcastic wit that appealed to her darker side and matched her own. But there was still a lot she didn’t know about him, secrets he buried deep and stories of scars he didn’t want to tell her. And she liked that most about him. She didn’t need to know everything about him, as he didn’t know everything about her, but she would take anything and everything he had to offer.

He balanced her where she needed it and though she didn’t want to admit it, he was probably right about her trip to the surface. She was impulsive where he was strategic and calculating. He weighed all available options and information against the possible risk and reward before he made the best choice where she often followed her heart. Both had a time and place, and she liked to believe that sometimes she pushed him away from calculation and into blood and emotion. And he was quite proficient at expressing his passions in other areas.

“You’re a hard girl to find when you want to be,” Marcus Kane said as he sat down next to her.

“Well I did try extra hard not to be found,” she said bitterly and put her face in her hands. “Looks like I failed in that too.”

“You haven’t failed at anything, Clarke,” Marcus said and she turned her head to peer over at him. He was facing forward, watching the shadows made by the intermittent blue glare from a welder.

“I just want to do something,” she said. “That’s not wrong.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, cocking his head to the side as he looked down at her. “But doing something that you know is exceptionally foolish is not the answer and you know it.”

“I can’t just sit down here, waiting for us to be able to leave,” Clarke argued, frowning. The panic was starting to fester and boil in her chest again.

“Sometimes waiting is all we can do,” he hesitantly reached a hand out and placed it on her shoulder. Clarke accepted the comfort but sighed heavily.

“I know everyone here knows Abby and can see how similar you are to your mother, Clarke,” he continued after a moment. “But you are so much like Jake.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke asked, sitting up to lean back against the Rover.

“He was as impulsive as you are being now,” Marcus explained. “He wanted immediate action, to hell with anyone else. I believe it’s why Thelonius made the decision he made rather than investigate the matter further.”

“But he was right,” the blonde shook her head confused.

“He was,” he sighed heavily. “But his method of delivery was too intense and would have caused panic and he had a history of acting against council wishes. I must admit that I have never agreed with him being floated, but I do think he should have taken a moment to listen to what the rest of us were asking him to do.”

Clarke sat in silence weighing his words. Maybe her desperation to be out of the bunker was clouding her logic. Just a little. There were enough unknowns to make the risk more than the potential reward she knew it. But it was hard to believe when the water tasted tinny instead of fresh and when her skin hadn't felt the caress of a breeze in years. The pair lapsed into silence.

“That was the first time you told him, wasn’t it?” Marcus asked quietly changing the subject.

“Yes,” she acknowledged, closing her eyes against the sting of tears. If there was anything she regretted about the argument today, it was those three little words.

“I suspected as much,” he said. “He looked a little shell-shocked.”

Clarke didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. She had certainly not meant to admit anything like that in circumstances like those. And apparently it had been obvious to everyone there. She felt embarrassment flood through her.

“It was that obvious, huh?” she asked after swallowing nervously.

“Only to someone who has spent a lot of time in close company with him I would suspect,” Marcus said with a shake of his head. “I doubt anyone else was paying such close attention to him, apart from yourself of course.”

Clarke nodded a little relieved. She knew Marcus held Roan in high regard and over the years had been spending a lot of time with him. She believed Roan may very well consider the Chancellor a friend so it she supposed it shouldn’t surprise her that Marcus could read him when others could not.

“I want to tell you something,” Marcus said, shooting a glance at her. “It may not make much sense at the beginning, but I promise I’ll get there in the end.”

Clarke nodded and he raised his knees, leaning his elbows on them, his hands hanging limply between them.

“Jake was my best friend,” he started after clearing his throat. “We’d always gotten along and I loved him dearly. He was interested in Abby from the time we were teenagers and everyone knew he was in love with her. He tried for years to get her to agree to give him a shot, but she was so focussed on getting through her training and becoming a surgeon that she didn’t want to be weighed down with a relationship.”

Clarke leaned back, intrigued by what he wanted to tell her. She hadn’t had much chance to think too much about her father the last few years, let alone ask any questions about the past.

“Jake asked me to help convince her,” he continued and he smiled a little, lost in memories. “And I did my best to convince her so we ended up spending a lot of time together both alone and with Jake. I realized that I had also developed feelings for her a few months in but by the time I understood them, Abby had finally softened enough towards your father and she had fallen for him too. I missed my chance with her and I was angry enough to cut off contact with Jake over it for a few years. They were married and had you and I kept my distance as much as I could. You could never truly avoid anyone on the Ark, not without a lot of work, but I did my best.”

“Then one day when you were about five,” his voice had gotten a little rough, rasping with emotion. “Jake came to me in a panic. Abby was in surgery, a complicated open-heart operation that we shouldn’t have attempted, but every life was sacred in those days and they were doing their best to save the old man. You were inconsolable, screaming and carrying on, demanding to see Abby and all of Alpha station could hear you.”

Clarke laughed, a little embarrassed, but still intrigued. She had heard she was a very opinionated young child and apparently everyone knew about it.

“He had tried everything to get you to listen to him but finally he came to me,” Marcus shook his head. “I hadn’t spoken to him in months at the time, and had always been distant with him, but he still considered me a good friend and when he couldn’t get his very temperamental child to listen to reason, he brought her to the one person who had gotten through to her mother.”

“I’ll admit I don’t remember what I said to you,” he said with a soft laugh. “But it took about ten minutes and you were calm and happy once again, asking me to sit and draw with you. Jake was as stunned as I was, but since that day I feel like maybe I understand you a little, Clarke.”

The blonde looked over at him and he smiled softly at her. Though she had known him well growing up, and cared greatly for him, it had always been a little distant. Perhaps because she knew he’d been so close to her father and stood by and done nothing when Jake had needed him the most or maybe it had been Kane protecting his own heart.

“He asked me to take care of you,” he continued, and his voice caught a little. “And I’ve tried, Clarke. But you are an amazing young woman and a force of nature when you want to be. And when they sent you to the ground I thought I’d failed your father completely. I used to regret not telling Abby how I felt before she married your father, but after that day so many years ago, I couldn’t. Even more so today, because I could never regret that we have you now.”

Clarke felt tears steadily tracking down her cheeks and when Marcus opened his arms to her she wrapped hers around his middle, holding him tight. She felt completely undone by what he’d told her. She missed her father desperately and was so confused, never having known the extent of his past with Marcus.

“I have tried my best, Clarke,” he continued, his voice low and rumbling through his chest where her ear was pressed against him. “But I agree with Roan and I will stand by him if you continue to pursue an idea that’s guaranteed to get you killed. I know Jake would have wanted me to, regardless of how much he would have admired what you want to do. He’d be the one to throw away the key to make sure you stayed in here.”

Clarke was crying quietly against him. Why would she have something that was such a gift but be unable to use it. It wasn’t fair. But she knew she couldn’t go through with it, especially not after everything she had just been told. And if she was honest with herself she knew it was too big of a risk right now. Maybe not always, but right now she was safer underground.

“I encourage you to submit to whatever physical testing they can do in here,” he continued quietly. “But please do it safely. There are many people in here who love you and don’t want to see you hurt, even if it means it will take more sacrifices for us to survive. No one likes being down here, but we will get out one day, and when we do, I want you to be the first one out those doors.”

“Okay,” she acknowledged softly, pulling back from his embrace and wiping at her eyes. Marcus gave her a tight-lipped smile and took her hand between two of his own, eyes suspiciously shiny.

“So how long do we have before the rest of the search party arrives?” she asked wearily.

“No one else is coming,” he said and her heart ached. “I asked them to give me time to speak to you and they agreed.”

“Even Roan?” she asked but was a little afraid to hear the answer.

“Apparently he trusts me,” Marcus said amused. “It did take some persuasion but I believe he’s waiting in your quarters. Though I doubt his patience will last too much longer. He was pretty set on finding you.”

“I don’t know what to say to him,” Clarke admitted heart turning over in her chest.

“Just be honest,” he said and turned to stand, pulling her up with him. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to look her in the eyes.

“If there is one thing I know it’s that he loves you,” he said. “He may not have told you, but he’s shown you and sometimes that has to be enough.”

Clarke nodded and when Marcus turned to leave she followed him without prompting. They walked in silence out of mechanics and she kept her eyes firmly on the ground ahead of her, avoiding anyone who may look too closely at her red-rimmed eyes. They reached her door too quickly and she paused, her heart having recently taken up residence in her throat rather than her chest.

“I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk about Jake,” Marcus said and looked back at Clarke, looking at the closed door. “Or him. I’m here for you, anytime.”

“Thank you,” Clarke said, hugging the older man tightly, thankful that she had someone who was close to a father still in her life.

“You’re welcome,” he said against her hair. “I love you, no matter what happens remember that.”

She nodded as he pulled away and with a final look at the young girl Marcus turned and walked off to give her the space she needed. Her fingers reached for the keycard in her pocket and they shook as she slid it through the reader, her fingers nearly slipping off the keys as she entered the code. She took a deep breath as the soft click echoed in the suddenly heavy air around her.

Clarke entered the room, keeping her eyes on the ground, not quite ready for what was about to happen. She faced the door as she shut is softly behind her, a hand held flat against it as she forced breath into her lungs. She heard the creak and rustle of his movements, and knew he was on the bed. With a final deep breath she turned to face him.

He was sitting up, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped between them. He was looking up at her, face carefully blank. She tried to maintain eye contact, but couldn’t keep up with the flickering emotion in his so she looked down at her hands.

“I won’t go to the surface until everyone agrees it’s safe,” she said quietly. She heard a whoosh as he let out a breath and heard the bed shift under him as he adjusted.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting to keep you safe,” he said and his voice was gruff with emotion.

“I’m not asking you to,” she sighed, looking up at him. “But I don’t appreciate your choice of tactics.”

“Would you have listened to reason?” he challenged, raising his brows at her.

She didn’t answer him because she knew he was right. She had been too wrapped up in a chance to crawl out of the ground to think about anything else. Some days she still couldn’t stand the thought of spending one more minute in these walls and knowing it was all she could do drove her crazy. But maybe it was time to acknowledge that she had to. It was hurting her too much to keep up her anxiety and it seemed she may be hurting others as well. She took a couple of steps further into the room, but kept her distance. She still needed it but she looked up and met his eyes.

“I don’t want to love you,” she admitted softly and a grimace stole over his features, making him pinch his lips together tightly. She watched his shoulders tighten and his fists clench as they did when he prepared to fight. She’d seen it before they went underground, it was one of the first of his habits she learned and it struck her as odd as it was such an obvious tell for anyone who knew just a little about him. He was watching her closely and she searched her mind for the right words.

“I loved my father,” she started quietly. “What I remember most clearly about him is the look in his eyes right before he was sucked out of the airlock. I loved my mother too. I still do, but it’s different now and I can never trust her as I used to. I know that I could sacrifice her life the way she did his and that is something I hate about myself.”

Roan straightened but remained seated, his shoulders dropping a fraction, but the muscle still ticked in his jaw. She cast her eyes around the room restlessly, not finding anything to hold her focus.

“I loved Finn,” she said looking at the picture of the fields near Arkadia, it wasn’t hard to superimpose a grounder army screaming for his blood. “I told him that when I drove a knife into his gut so he wouldn’t suffer. I loved Lexa and when she finally let her guard down, she died in my arms. Their deaths will always be in part because of me.”

She cleared her throat, unsure of her next words because they had the potential to do more harm than good, but she needed him to understand that this was hard for her too. This was something they hadn’t discussed yet. He may have been raised to be wary of love and the potential implications. He may even have been groomed to marry as part of a political alliance for all she knew of grounder royal culture so maybe he never assumed it would be a part of his life. And it was easier to push something away than to accept it was something you desired but couldn’t have in your life.

“I think I loved Bellamy too,” she said softly, shooting a glance at him and saw his fists tighten as he avoided her eyes. “But all that ever led to was pain and death. Not just for us, but for our friends and those we considered enemies.”

She knew Bellamy was an odd sore spot. Not one that was often touched on, but it seemed that sometimes when he was insecure he looked at the younger man as if that was who she should have chosen. But Clarke had buried that idea long ago.

“I don’t want to love you,” she said again and took a step toward him, hands shaking. “But I do.”

He looked up at her then and his shoulders dropped and his hands unclenched, the fight leaving his body in one great wave. She took another hesitant step so she was nearly within his reach and his eyes were blazing up at her.

“I’m absolutely terrified,” she admitted, tears prickling behind her lids. “Because all I know of love is death and pain and I never want to know that with you.”

He rose from the bed slowly and reached out a hand to wrap around hers. His hand was warm around hers and she realised just how cold she was, fingers like icicles against his heated skin.

“I have never loved anyone before,” he said finally, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. It wasn’t a declaration, it was something more. She felt the tremble of his hands as he reached to cup her cheeks and kiss her lips softly. She placed her hands on his chest and felt the heavy thump of his heart beneath them, faster than it should be. She took another step bringing her body flush up against his, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” she whispered against his lips and he held her tightly against him. “And I planned to tell you in different circumstances.”

“You should expect more from me,” he argued and she opened her eyes to look at him. “Though I would have preferred you told me before you made it known to everyone else.”

He stepped away from her and walked over to one of his drawers reaching in to retrieve something. She watched curiously as he fidgeted a little before turning around again, appearing a little nervous. It was always unsettling to notice that particular emotion in him, as he was generally so composed.

“I had this made for you,” he said when he was before her once again. He held a fist out and she placed an opened palm beneath it, surprised when a small warm object dropped into it. She looked at him and he smiled softly at her before she looked at the object in her palm.

It was a small delicate ring and she frowned at it confused. It was a plain silver band, with a design etched around it. As she looked closer, the delicate flowing lines reminded her of the scars on Roan’s back and she smiled down at it.

“It is uncommon for us,” he cleared his throat when she didn’t say anything. “But I don’t expect you want a crown.”

“You’re asking me to marry you?” Clarke asked, searching his eyes. He didn’t say anything but she felt her heart race as he looked down at her.

“I’m asking you to be my queen,” he said, voice low and rough and Clarke thought it was better than any I love you she had ever imagined before. She slipped the band onto her finger and found it fit as perfectly as she did with the man who gave it to her. She felt the new weight around her finger as she slipped her hands around his neck, kissing him deeply, pouring everything she felt for him into the kiss and found it returned in equal measure. She would face their future together, wrapped in the arms of her warrior king, knowing she had found her home at last.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
